He Never Said Goodbye
by Humungus
Summary: Harry has to face a terrible choice. Has he the strength to let go of love? An imaginary chapter from Book 5 ... whatever that is!!! R&R greatly appreciated!


"There are more deaths coming… one in particular, will be horrible to write."

**_He Never Said Goodbye._**

****

Hedwig circled Gryffindor Tower a second time.  Suddenly her knife-edge vision seized onto one window in particular and she swooped down with one unbroken movement, to glide inside it.  Almost soundlessly, she folded her wings and perched on the end of her owner's bed.  In her beak was a folded parchment, sealed with a dark red wax.  She dropped the letter onto a small pile of clothes, and waited, cracking her beak to herself.  She'd not expected any reward for delivering the letter, and was waiting more out of owl-courtesy than anything else.  Eventually she gave a doleful hoot and left by the same window.

A few minutes later a door at the opposite end of the dormitory opened and a boy of about fifteen trotted through it.  His hair was wet and he wore only a fluffy green towel around his waist.  Harry Potter had been awake since before dawn, unable to sleep properly, and not wishing to disturb Ron, he'd gone out for a ride on his broomstick.  By the time he'd returned, he'd figured that it wasn't worth going back to bed, and settled for a long soapy bath instead.  Normally the Gryffindor boys' bathroom would be a noisy, chaotic place, with a dozen or so bodies pushing and shoving and teasing good naturedly.  Only rarely did Harry to get the place to himself.

He'd been waking very early during the last fortnight, and spending the early part of each day moping around from breakfast to lessons, drowsy and irritable.  As he pulled on some socks, Harry glanced over at the gently shifting mound of blankets that concealed Ron, and smiled sadly to himself.  No matter how gloomy or sulky he became, Ron would simply be there. If Harry needed to talk, his friend would listen.  More often, if he needed a silent companion, Ron could be that too.  

He was rummaging in his cupboard for some underwear, when his discarded towel landed, heavy and wet on his head.  

"Morning… Ron.."

"No wonder I have nightmares Potter – waking up and finding you standing there in the nuddy!"

"Could've been worse mate – might've been dear old Severus."

"Oh Please!"

Ron disappeared below his covers once more, making retching noises, as Harry scrambled into the rest of his clothes. He was just pulling the blankets back into some kind of order when he found the letter, which had slipped down the side of his bed.  He slowly turned it over in his hand, until he saw in the wax seal, the imprint of the amulet he'd given to Hermione for her last birthday.  Obviously, word had reached her somehow.

He considered getting Ron out of bed so that they could read the letter together, but couldn't see what difference it would make, and continued to tear it open.  

_My Dearest Harry_

_I can't begin to tell you how upset I was when I heard about Hagrid.  Of all the good people, the gentlest of souls – the best of friends to each one of us.  My heart is broken Harry, and still I can't imagine how it must have affected you. I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to be with you or even write to you, but we have only just heard, after five weeks.  You know how isolated we are here in Gomrath, and with such good reason of course.  Each and every sacrifice we make is to protect the future Harry – please remember that.  And don't go on about how you wish you were more involved in the front line of the battle.  We all need you to be where you can be protected.  That's just how it is, your day is coming Harry – the Order is growing stronger.  Hagrid was so brave, and I'm sure he thought about you in the last few hours._

_Oh I know I'm going on and on.  Please forgive me.  How is Ron?  I'm sure you're both keeping company and taking care of each other.  My love to you both._

_Hermione.___

Harry was surprised to feel exactly the same rush of anguish that he'd felt when Dumbledore had broken the news more than a month ago.  He pondered for just a moment, Hermione's ability to talk about what had happened to Hagrid without once using the word "dead". Then he sat down suddenly and heavily on his bed, and felt his face crumple. Great sobs heaved up from his chest as he flung his glasses onto the pillow.  At one time he'd have given anything for Ron not to see him like this, but now it mattered very little.  He felt a large arm enfold his shoulders and allowed his face to be pressed into Ron's pyjama jacket.

"It's easier never to love anyone Ron," he murmured.

"And it's easier still just to give up and die… but we won't …," said Ron.

Harry was studying hard at his schoolwork.  In fact he'd been getting his best grades in a long time.  He was finding that throwing his energies into work was a good way of getting through the day. He found the predictability of each lesson and breaktime to be a comfort in a way it had never been before.  The worst times were around dawn and most of all, early evening.  That's when he'd been in the habit of visiting the little hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  Even when Hagrid had first gone away on his mission for Dumbledore, Harry would still take a walk over the moonlit lawns to check that everything was in order.  Now there seemed little point in doing so, because Hagrid was never coming home. 

When that evening came he gazed out of the window of the Gryffindor Common Room, having completed the three feet of potions homework Snape had given him.  Ron was playing chess with Neville.  It wasn't much of a game, as Neville kept forgetting which way the pieces could move.  Just when Ron thought he would have to yell with exasperation, he felt Harry nudging his shoulder.

"Look!"

Ron looked out of the window.  Below them, spotlighted by the moon, Albus Dumbledore himself was performing a very ordinary chore.  He was walking a dog – a large boarhound, to be precise.

"Fang?" said Ron, feeling puzzled.

"It must be," said Harry quietly, "but I thought the house-elves looked after him."

"Yeah, so did I."

"Maybe he's too big for them to manage," said Neville, hastily packing away the chess pieces while Ron was distracted.

"That's quite likely, but why would Dumbledore himself get the job?" said Harry, "Why not another teacher?  Or more likely a prefect?"

The candles were burning low and Harry stretched.  For once in such a very long time, he actually felt quite sleepy.  He poked Ron affectionately in the ribs and strolled towards the dormitory stairs without saying anything.  He woke the next morning to find it was already light.  It was still three quarters of an hour before it was time to get up, but Harry was very surprised when he realised that he had slept right through the night.  Ron was delighted when he told him.

Harry made a point of sitting at the window seat to write his transfiguration essay, so that he could check if Dumbledore or any other unlikely candidate now had the job of regularly taking Hagrid's dog for walkies.  He'd always had a soft spot for the great soppy hound, except maybe when he slobbered great globules of drool onto his best Quidditch robes.  If the job needed to be done maybe he could volunteer, and perhaps get Ron roped in too.  Then again, Ron and Fang were never really on the best of terms.  

A smile was just creeping onto Harry's face when he saw for the second time, the headmaster of Hogwarts, with the boarhound trotting along behind him. Harry shook his head, wondering silently.

By the end of the week, when he'd seen Dumbledore walking Fang for the fifth time, Harry resolved to find out what was going on.

"Maybe he just likes dogs," suggested Neville.

"Dumbledore keeps a magic phoenix – he's not likely to be a big admirer of dumb pooches like Fang is he?" said Ron.  "Do you want company mate?"

"No thanks," said Harry, a bit too suddenly, and he looked at Ron to see of he'd offended him.

"Good – mind you don't stand in anything stinky that he's pooped on the lawn," smirked Ron.

"Okay," said Harry, relieved, "and I assume by "he" you mean Fang and not Dumbledore!" 

There was a chorus of chuckling as he closed the portrait behind him.

Outside it was clear and frosty, and although the moon was now on the wane, Harry could still see clearly across the grounds to where Dumbledore was leading Fang to Hagrid's hut.  He set off jogging until he'd caught up with them both.

"Back again, sir?" he asked.

The old man's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Yes indeed Harry, back again."

They walked a little further before Harry decided to push his enquiry further.

"I didn't think _you would be doing the dog walking, professor."_

"This is a very important task Harry.  We can't have Fang leaving unpleasant deposits on the floor of the Great Hall, now can we?"

Harry smiled.  Whenever he'd sought information from Dumbledore, he'd either received a very direct and full answer, usually immediately – or the reverse, skirting around the issue until he'd almost felt dizzy.  He guessed that this could be one of the latter situations.

"Why you sir?  Why not the prefects or house elves?"

Surprisingly, Dumbledore did not reply at all, but placed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder.  After they'd continued for another few minutes, Harry was wondering if he should speak again, but saw that they were almost at Hagrid's hut.  Dumbledore tied Fang to a post outside.

"Come inside with me," said Dumbledore, and motioned to Harry to follow.

Stepping inside Hagrid's hut had never before felt like this.  It had usually been accompanied by feelings of welcome, cheerful good humour, and - he realised for the first time - a sense of safety.  Now those were all missing or out of place.  His first impression was overwhelming cold, his second, bitter emptiness. 

Dumbledore waved him to the table and reluctantly he pulled out a chair.  When it came to sitting down in it, Harry found that a sickening mixture of memories and grief overpowered him, and he remained standing, leaning against the chair for support.  

"Come on there Harry; don't be cluttering up the place like a great streak o' misery!"

The voice made him draw breath so sharply he thought his lungs would burst.  It was Hagrid's voice, but not his voice.  It had an unfamiliar metallic chiming sound to each word, and a faint echo that did not come from the tiny hut.  Harry's eyes fixed on Dumbledore.  Slowly, the old man nodded and pointed to the little stove in the corner.

Harry swallowed hard and turned.  

As grey as smoke and shimmering with a blue haze all around it, Hagrid's ghost was there.  

"Hagrid! You came back!" Harry whispered.

He was experiencing a deluge of emotion.  Relief, hope, and guilt pulled him to and fro.  He looked pleadingly at Dumbledore.  

"I thought that Hagrid would return tonight," he said.

"What do you mean?  Can Hagrid live here as a ghost now?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore slowly, "he can."

Dumbledore raised a hand to quell Harry's stream of questions.

"Harry – you see – he has a decision to make, and he must make it tonight, once and for all."

"But if he can be with us forever – like Nick and the others – then why wouldn't he?  Hagrid!"

Harry called out to the spectre in the corner of the room, but it seemed unable to respond in words.  The ghost of Hagrid simply smiled and waved feebly at him.

Dumbledore sighed very deeply.

"He has a choice Harry. He has waited until tonight to make it, for a time when he could show himself to you, and to speak, however briefly, with you.  You must help him make his decision, whether to remain at Hogwarts in ghostly form, or move on to a far happier place."

Harry couldn't understand how Hagrid could be happy at all, not being with the people who had loved him during his life.  Surely there was no question of where Hagrid would decide to stay.  His frowning face told Dumbledore of his anguished feelings.

"How much time does he have to decide?" he asked

"A few more moments Harry…"

"Moments!"

"I want you to consider two very important facts Harry.  Firstly, Hagrid would have to remain here for many hundreds of years – long after you have left Hogwarts, and long after you too have died." 

Dumbledore hesitated.  

"Secondly, your parents have also faced this decision - after their own deaths, and chose to move on from this world Harry, and wait for you in the next."

Harry stared at the shimmering form of Hagrid, until he felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.  Dumbledore took his hand and squeezed it.

"Hagrid will never be flesh and blood again – in this world. He may be in the next; I cannot say for sure.  But I can tell you with certainty, that he will find true happiness and prepare a welcome for me and for you, and for all his friends if he is allowed to move on."

"Allowed?"

"Only those who met their death in tragic circumstances, or who remain unfulfilled, or anxious, or consumed by grief… these are the ones who must make the decision now faced by Hagrid.  He has come back tonight, as I thought he would, because he must seek an answer from you."

"To see if I will allow him to be a ghost?"

"To see if you will allow him to move on to the next world, Harry. The question he asks is; do you need him so much that he must stay here forever?  If you do, you must tell him now."

The tears that had been welling up, stung Harry's eyes and made his face hurt with the effort of holding them back.  He tried to make his voice sound strong, but it came out unsteady and whispery.

"No – I need to know that he's happy now.  That's what I need… like my M-Mum and Dad.."

Dumbledore stood up and moved over to where Harry was half standing, half leaning.

"Then look Harry!"

Hagrid's ghost smiled briefly and dissolved into the blue haze that had enveloped it.  It seemed to happen so suddenly, much more quickly than Harry had expected.  But then he realised, he had no idea what to expect.

"He never said goodbye," Harry murmured.

Dumbledore placed a steadying arm around Harry's shoulder's and guided him outside, across the lawns and into the main hall of the castle.  Fang trotted obediently behind them.  

"Tonight Harry – there will be tears to come, and I think, a deep and peaceful sleep."

Harry hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, to his bed. He had the feeling of his life having changed, and that he would never see the world in the same way again. He wasn't sure that sleep would follow the tears he knew were coming.  But Dumbledore was usually right about such things.


End file.
